Condemned
by Justified Wings
Summary: Combination of Drakengard 1 and 2. A series of one shots based on the Seven Deadly Sins. Not for the ideologically sensitive.
1. Luxuria

**Luxuria**

_What do your eyes hold for me, Caim? What is it that you see when you look at me? Can you mirror my thoughts? Can you mirror my heart?_

A single action always opened a great number of pathways. These pathways had potential to cross with others of similarity. These pathways had potential to destroy possible outcomes. Furiae had wondered for ten years of her life what consequences would arise if she had taken particular actions as opposed to others.

She stood at a table, one delicate hand resting her fingertips upon the surface; the other lifted and placed against her clavicle. Her brown eyebrows furrowed and she inclined her head. In the name of all things holy, how had she found herself in this position? Had she willingly volunteered to become the Goddess of the Seal? No… She could not remember lending that part of herself. Of course, she didn't want the world to fall into chaos, so a part of her may have understood her ability to be so compassionate toward the living. It placed her into a role where she did not wish to be, however. There were certain things expected of a goddess.

_In my position, have… I only complicated things for you, Caim? Is… Is that what this world is saying to me? Do I deserve to be here after what has happened? Do I deserve to be placed into this predicament?_

Furiae believed he would say the opposite. Well, that was in the particular case that he could speak. His actions at the beginning of the war against the Empire told her more things than his colloquial speech ever could have. For the benefit of protecting her, for the benefit of his life, he offered his voice to a creature that he held an extreme dislike for.

Dislike. That was what she defined it as, knowing fully well that Caim's actions gestured down the pathway of absolute hatred. She was aware, though, that while any average person would look at him and jump to a copious amount of assumptions, perhaps only she truly knew what was going on in Caim's head. Oh, and his dragon, the pink… red creature that suddenly became his translator.

"Oh, Caim…" she spoke softly to herself. She fingered the nearest implement to her hand, bringing her fingertips over the handle as her eyes rested upon the small blade. It was nothing more than a mere paring knife, it seemed, and yet a strange sense of power scaled her arm and found its home in her shoulder.

What could she do with this, though? Surely it wouldn't inflict much damage unless she was to thrust it into someone's eye. That would require some skill, however, and likely not the type of skill she had. When she really thought about it, she didn't have much of any trait that could be considered a talent. She spent a lot of her free time reading, and now that she was in this situation, she wandered, often living out her days in a dreamland.

Her brother was there, of course. She would imagine the way the world lit up when his lips would curl into a smile. It was so uncommon for her to see that. After his pact with the dragon, the only time she'd seen his smile was when it seemed more like a sneer than genuine prosperity. It was not to claim that she disliked this Caim more than the one she dreamt about. She loved Caim no matter how he may have become. There was naught in the world that would change that.

It was something she had read before: a love so strong that not even the hands of fate could draw it away. Nothing could pull it apart. That was the sort of love she held for him.

"With love," she continued her thoughts aloud, "comes guilt."

Her head lifted and she turned, so her lower back would use the table's edge as support, "Is it the price I pay for love? Compassion rules me. It rules me and renders me helpless to my situations. It gnaws at me with small teeth as though to… To simply take from me my very soul. My punishment from the gods."

She heard the approaching footsteps. They were hasty, and it took little thought for her to realize that they were in search of something. It was likely that 'something' should have been defined as her. And those hasty footsteps likely belonged to her brother.

Her attention was fully turned onto him when he sprinted into the banquet room. As her eyes rested upon his, she took note of the painfully obvious relief painted across his expression. Even without words, he sometimes became like a book, one that held a different cover every time she saw him.

When he lifted his hand, she shook her head, "No. I wasn't hurt." What else could she say? Even if she had fallen into detriment somewhere along the way, she likely wouldn't have told him.

He began to step towards her and lowered his sword to his side. It was the same blade that Furiae had remembered for years. Had it been passed down to him? She could hardly remember their parents aside from faces and titles. The only thing she kept dear in her mind were the memories that she held when she grew up with Caim and Inuart.

Inuart. That guilt began to settle in again. She was well aware of how he felt for her. It was like a song that she heard constantly. Inuart had loved her. Inuart had wanted to save her from her restraints. Inuart had wanted to take her burden for his own. He'd wanted to bring her happiness, to set her free, like liberating a bird from a cage. He'd wanted to give all of himself to her, and had wanted for her to do the same for him.

She couldn't. It was not as though her eyes had not passed over him. Furiae had given him a glance, a scarce one at that, and found her feelings rested elsewhere. She had no intentions of settling down, of ever having a family, and those were things she knew Inuart wanted from her. She couldn't offer that, however. Her position forbade that. She was a Goddess of the Seal, and that meant there were things she couldn't do. Being the Goddess of the Seal, while at times a curse, she took with great pride. Not all women of purity and chaste thoughts were given this privilege. Because she was thought of so highly, she felt it was for the best of all that she should act becoming and proper.

That did not, however, deter her thoughts of her brother. It was something that often plagued her. Thoughts of his handsome visage. Dreams of how his voice used to sound, a tone that was quickly beginning to fade from her memories. Admiring the way his hair fell into his blue eyes, so deep like the ocean that she had played near when she was young. He was a man that built up her nostalgia like a never-ending turret and as she scaled to reach the top, it would constantly grow. She could never find the true heart of her brother. She knew not where it lied.

Suppose he learned of her fascination for him. How would he react? Would he turn her away? Would he disown her? Would he be overcome with hatred for her as well? Would she become no better than the Empire that he was so determined to destroy? Would… he even dare to lift his sword and pierce her heart? The thought was absolutely frightening and when she began to think on such things, Furiae began to question her own sanity.

"Are you all right? You are not hurt?" she asked imploringly with a tilt of the head.

He nodded to her solemnly, his gaze reading only sincere thoughts. He would never allow anything to happen to him. If he suddenly fell then she would no longer have anyone to protect her. Furiae would be vulnerable to the evils of the world. Caim found it his responsibility to guard her at all costs, even at the one of his life.

It was these things and others of the like, that his sister could so easily withdraw from him. Caim spoke not only with his expressions, but with his body language, and with his eyes. They were indeed windows, but only those deemed worthy were allowed to take note of this. Someone who had simply met him for the first time would never be able to understand this or take advantage of it. It required a companion to be around him for a great deal of time before they made this discovery.

The surprise was evident when her brother extended a hand, took her by the wrist and pulled him into her arms. The chill of his metal armour reached through her dress of perfect white and invoked a series of flutters to navigate by way of her veins. How impure she thought of herself in that moment, that she was acquiring so much yearning just by being held close to him.

As a child, she had sought comfort in Caim's arms many times before, whether it was because of being teased by other children, or small monsters in the forest that would threaten her, or even her imagination running away with her. In her aging, however, she had noted the distance that grew between them and it concerned her. Did Caim know of her feelings for him, after all? Even if he had, though, he would have expressed his dislike of it. Even for her, he was not the type to turn a blind eye. She always knew exactly how he felt about everything. It was the connection they had that she held close to heart.

A hand lifted and her fingertips brushed over the ridges of his armour. She had to admit to herself that she preferred him without it. She scarcely embraced him when he wasn't donning it, however, and perhaps that was for the best. There was only so much discipline she could harbour.

_One day, Caim, you won't need to wear this armour anymore. We'll be a land of peace. We'll be able to be together without anymore concerns or worries. It'll just be you and me. It'll be us. Together._

Furiae felt him stiffen and her lips began to upturn. Half of her had always questioned her feelings for him. Sometimes she felt a terrible ache in her heart, as though she knew her thoughts weren't to exist. Other times, she wondered why it was considered so terrible. In the books she had read, she had seen too many times a brother and a sister had wed. What was so different if she and Caim were to be unified together? She could think of no other man who was suited for her, and she knew well enough that Caim's eyes had never even passed over another woman. That signified his disinterest, yes?

"Are you sure you weren't harmed?"

Another nod came from him and in a fit of what must have been compassion, he leaned down, took her chin in hand and rested his lips upon her forehead. It seemed to be the only piece of reassurance that he could lend in her direction. She deserved so much more, and he was unable to offer it to her. Like Inuart, he couldn't save her from her fate, although he desperately wanted to.

As he held her to him, she realized she didn't want to repress her feelings any longer. Even if Caim didn't feel the same way for her, she wanted him to know how she felt. He had a right to. She wanted him to know that he held her heart in the very palm of his hand. She wanted him to know that there was no other man in her thoughts than him. She wanted him to know that in a world of insincere loves, hers was a storybook one. One that would last even until the day he passed, to which she would join, even if it were to bring about the world's demise. The gods could create a new world with better people. She could not replace her brother, or the feelings she held for him.

"Caim… I…"

When she began to speak, he withdrew from her and offered her a rather plain look. It caused her to pause and she inclined her head. He was silently warning her, telling her it wasn't time to converse on such things. In spite of this, however, she felt there would be no other time for him to know. This was her only chance. It was the sinking feeling she felt in her stomach.

"No… Please… You must listen to me," she pleaded softly, her eyes trying to betray her feelings to him.

Caim averted his gaze, shaking his head. He reached for his sword again and gestured towards the pathway from whence he had come. Then with his free hand, he offered it to her, palm up.

If they left, he would be too distracted to hear her. He wouldn't be listening. She needed him to listen. She wanted him to listen. It was absolutely necessary. It was required. It was essential. Her right hand clutched the small knife still within her grasp. Had Caim even noticed? No… Of course not. He'd only wanted to know if she was all right. He'd wanted to ensure that if she was shaken up that he could calm her. He'd wanted to soothe her before they left. Then when they were no longer in danger, he could console her to the fullest of his ability.

_You don't want him to know, do you? That's why I'm holding you. Am… Am I so impure? Am I not allowed to hold these feelings? Why are you punishing me? All I want to do is love. All I want to do is love Caim. It's all I want. I… I didn't ask to be placed in this role. I didn't ask for you to make me into what I am… I… didn't ask to be a plaything for your enjoyment._

Her eyebrows knit together in deep thought as she stared at the blade of her knife. The overwhelming desire to pierce herself and prevent the agony was so great. She had felt the temptation before. This urge was not hers alone, however. The gods were trying to stop her from admitting her weaknesses to Caim. Suppose he would rush even into the unknown that was her mind to save her? How could he do such a thing when his own sanity was crumbling with every passing moment?

She found her gaze resting upon her brother's who had once more lowered his sword. His eyes read concern, perhaps no longer for escorting her out, but rather a pain that he had placed pieces of the puzzle together. He shook his head at her.

_Oh, Caim…_

"Caim…" Furiae began slowly as she watched him. "…Caim… I'm sorry. I haven't been a good sister at all. I've been such a burden to you. You've given up your life to protect mine. You've given up your future for me… I… I only wanted to do the same for you. I only wanted you to—"

_"I only wanted you to hold me, Caim. I only wanted to be close to you, to touch you, to kiss you, to love you, in ways that no other has."_

_**The Gods. The Nameless. The Watchers.**_

"No! That… That isn't…" Furiae began to protest.

As her brother approached her, she lifted her free hand to stop him. "Please don't, Caim… Please don't…"

_"Don't stop, Caim. I never want to be apart from you. I want to live my entire life with you. I want to be more than your sister."_

_**The Watchers dance. The Watchers sing. The Watchers laugh.**_

Her feet retracted and she pressed herself against the table. How could he hear these things? And the look he gave to her. Was that disbelief she read in his eyes? Was it repulsion? Was it distaste? Was it his disapproval? Was he chiding her? Was he disgusted with her? Furiae felt a distinct ache in her heart, one that traveled from the source all across her form. His eyes upon her were like knives sticking out from all over her body.

_What's one more, Furiae?_

"Caim, I—"

_"I love you. I love you, Caim. I love you with every beat of my impure heart. I love you more than life itself. I love—"_

_**Isn't that what you want to say?**_

_"—you, Caim. I want to be with you always. I want you to hold me. I want you to save me. I want you to love me. I want you to—"_

_**The Watchers laugh. The Watchers dance. The Watchers sing.**_

_**La.  
La.  
La.  
La.  
La.**_

_**The Watchers see everything. The Watchers know everything. There's nothing you can hide from the Watchers.**_

"Stop!" Furiae pleaded once more as a splitting pain coursed through her head.

_**Like a sword to a mirror. Your impurities are like a mirror. Your lust is like a mirror. You are like a mirror. And your brother is that sword.**_

Her hand tightened once more upon the small knife and she hastily lifted it before driving it into her chest. Her eyes tore away from her brother.

_Deeper. Deeper. It isn't deep enough. It must be deeper. This pain will end. This suffering will end. I cannot live in a world where Caim would dislike me. I cannot live in a world without Caim._

_"I cannot live. I cannot live."_

_**The Watchers sing. The Watchers dance. The Watchers laugh.**_

_**La. La.  
La.  
La. La.**_

She stared at the blood seeping from her wound, white turning to red, like a fine wine would stain a carpet, like water would warp wood. Her perception of the world was harsh, but her punishment for her sins harsher. Already she felt the grasp upon her shoulder, tightening, loosening, teasing her, and enticing her. She could hear the Watchers calling for her.

_The Gods… What are you?_

Furiae was numb.

When she faced her brother once more, nearly stumbling, she swayed from side to side. His eyes. They were the most beautiful things in the entire world. No one else deserved them. No one except for her. Even in her moments of absolute dread, she could think of nothing except Caim.

_You're looking at me. You're looking at me with those eyes I love so much. You're looking at me with that expression. You're looking at me, Caim. You're looking at me._

He was looking at her. With surprise. With fright. With concern. With horror. With shock.

_With pity._

Her knees buckled beneath her and as she fell, she could remember only one final thing she said to the man of her dreams, to the man she had always believed was her prince.

**"Don't… look at me."**


	2. Gula

**Gula**

"I want that strength," said the man with carmine red curls framing his round face.

Zhangpo was not a handsome man. Not handsome in the least. In fact, most would have defined him as grotesque, and that was putting it… lightly. Chances were that he had grown up the ugly duckling. Instead of that transformation into a swan, however, he simply remained the same.

_If I cannot be handsome,_ he thought, _then I want power. More than what I simply obtain by eating. My looks do little except to make old women run in fright and babes cry._

How would he obtain this? Power was easier said to acquire than to truly hold in the palm of one's hand. It was a bit of a sad realization for the repulsive man, but it spoke in oodles of truth.

He wandered the world of Drakengard, only vaguely blinded to its plights. His desire of strength ranked above all else, and as most things had been, Zhangpo cared little for the opinion of others, especially when they disagreed with his. This mindless meandering, however, came to cease when he found a position he could fulfill—if he had power.

Once again, he needed some type of strength. He wanted this obligation.

Across the land, there were sanctuaries, upheld by the sacrifices required to maintain order. These areas were referred to as seals. Under the command of Hierarch Verdelet, the Knights of the Seal were charged with protecting the seals in each district. It was said that if they were destroyed, a chaotic force would arise and annihilate the world.

This had happened once before, Zhangpo recalled. Nearly fifteen years before, the seals had been destroyed by the Cult of the Watchers. They'd chosen a young girl to represent them and in a mad fit of insanity she had used the Empire to accomplish her tasks. The seals fell, one by one, and the goddess too, paving the way for the monstrosities even more frightening than Zhangpo himself.

There was a young man, however; a young man who cooperated with Verdelet's requests and put a stop to the Cult of the Watchers. He must have held compassion, for her did not kill the young girl for her foolish attempts to wreak havoc. Instead, he chose to torment her. It was said that her own eyes needed to see the pain and suffering she had caused. In order to do this, she accompanied the young man through bitter snow, harsh rain, glorious sunshine, and days of overcast shadows.

Then they both mysteriously vanished. Not a trace of them in the least. The world's hero and the world's villain gone from the plane, it seemed.

Security was tightened at the seals when years later they were struck by opposition. The rumour was that it was a deed done by an eerily-familiar one-eyed man. He never chose to explain why he was doing such a terrible thing, but after the dead of General Oror, a rather well-known knight, they had no other choice. And of course, that was only the beginning.

Zhangpo heard threats of a revolution. He couldn't define 'world destruction' as a revolution, however. It seemed more like a setback. Why destroy the world? What was the point? It was a rather selfish action, considering the other possibilities. It was then, he decided, that he would give his entirety to protect the seals. He would dedicate himself fully to the protection to the District of Soul Flame.

When he thought about it, he was already a knight under General Gismor's command. He simply wanted to prove his strength and show that he was entirely a capable man. That was how his lust for power had motivated him. It was so old-fashioned for a knight to fight for a lady. If he was required to have a lady in his heart, it was the land.

"I want that strength," Zhangpo repeated, peering up to the creature before him.

It was like a gigas. _Like_ one, but not exactly the same. These were the types of creatures he'd read about in books. When fate had decided Zhangpo would cross paths with the creature of fire, the knight knew what he had to do.

"I said give me that strength!" he began to whine, like a child who'd had far too much candy and wanted more, but was denied the request.

The creature looming above him was unmoved. How could anyone stand to listen to such a sound? Who could ever truly want to have a partnership with such a power-hungry fool?

Then it came to him. Well, it. Some might have said the creature of fire was genderless, but such masculine traits implied that it was definitely of the masculine gender, and would become the alpha of that doomed relationship.

"I am Ifrit and I have heeded your call," he managed to respond with a voice that boomed like thunder.

Zhangpo nearly trembled. What a frightening creature indeed! With that standing behind him, those revolutionists would stare in fear, turn tail, and flee. This had been the power he was searching for.

"Then we will create a pact!" the man exclaimed.

"A pact, indeed," came Ifrit's reply.

_I will take from you what you consider to be most precious, however. Are you prepared?_

What Zhangpo failed to realize was the idea that one could not take without giving something in return. There was a price for a pact and rightfully so. In due time, Zhangpo would be fully aware of the terms.

----------

Pact partners were bound by the soul. One could not die without the other, and one could not live without the other. As a result, it created a dependent relationship between the two, something Zhangpo had needed quite badly. He was a man with coworkers, not allies and Ifrit seemed to change that.

The newly-made lieutenant came to find, however, that he would have preferred to give up his friend. For when he made this pact with Ifrit, he lost the ability to experience the privilege of food, a shock for a man who liked to eat, and had done such to a great extent throughout his childhood and adolescence.

"I thought the mutton at the festival was quite good, commander. It was such a well-deserved outcome for how hard everyone has worked."

Zhangpo glowered when he overheard those words. Just the mere mention of food caused his mouth to salivate. He could only imagine what they were speaking of. He could only picture those slick juices streaming down his throat. He would never again experience that delight.

In a rage, he stormed over to the knight addressing his authority. Taking him by the collar of his uniform, he fought the temptation to choke the life out of him.

"If I _ever _hear another word about food from you, I'll have my axe do the talking!"

Then he stumbled back, ignoring how strange it must have seen the difference between the statures of the two men. Zhangpo's lack of height was one more curse and seemed to add to his repulsive nature. As he moved in the direction of his private quarters, he found himself grumbling.

"No matter how much I eat, I never get full! It's as though I've never eaten!" he snarled as he roughly pushed his door open.

Upon the end table beside his bed was the food he'd taken from the banquet the night prior. He'd had a habit of taking more than he could eat in one sitting. It'd been brought up once before, but Zhangpo had such a tantrum that he was immediately excuse. Excused, but not forgotten.

He reached for a roll and barbarically shoved it between his teeth, hardly taking the time to chew before swallowing. What was the point when you couldn't taste your food? There was none. It was like chewing on water.

Then he grabbed another. And another. Until he had four packed into his cheeks, the way a hibernating squirrel held onto its acorns. With a rough swallow, he growled as he reached for a chalice of the red wine that had been served that evening. No matter how potent it might have been, his stomach felt nothing.

"Zhangpo, you fool!" he hissed.

And fool he was. A man who had given up his love for eating for power and strength. A man who was as ugly as one could become, on the outside and the inside. A man who lacked charm and wit.

Such a man was not fit for the world. Consumed by his gluttony and without a stomach to tell him to stop, Lieutenant Zhangpo would surely eat himself to death.


	3. Avaritia

**Avaritia**

"What… What is this…?"

Gismor's bushy eyebrows furrowed as he watched the man before him fall to his knees. His lips upturned into a sneer, the sinister expression that only the 'privileged' were allowed to see.

He was not a cruel man. That was what he would have said if someone had asked him. His actions, however, spoke far more than his colloquial speech could. He was often mistaken for being a noble man. Noble, regal, and in some circles, handsome, though any woman with decent taste might have said otherwise—and away from his earshot, of course.

The man who was kneeling to him now deserved his predicament. This man stood in the way of Gismor's success. In order to grasp what it was he truly wanted, he had to be dealt with. He had to be eliminated. Without competition, Gismor could raise one more step up the ladder. That had been his goal this entire time. Opposition was to be crushed, annihilated, obliterated, and exterminated. If it had been war, which to Gismor, it could very much be defined as such, then he would have taken no prisoners. After all, captives didn't belong in a war. They brought about sentimental feelings and logic and heart had no place with one another.

Besides, as far as he was concerned, Gismor had no heart unless he benefited from the situation.

_I'll have to thank Hanch later, won't I? She was most useful in this predicament. I may need her talents at another time down this grimy pathway I'm traveling._

His eyes grew wide and not even the dim light brought colour to his orbs of black. This man, Gismor, could not be seen as mere human. His lips parted and from the back of his throat came a cackle. It was not the same as genuine laughter. Then again, Gismor was so fictitious that there was a good possibility he'd never sincerely uttered a chuckle in the name of good will.

The sound echoed in the empty halls of the conference room. Somewhere off in the distance Hierarch Verdelet was walking with his apprentice, Seere. When they arrived, however, it would be too late. General Oror would have succumbed to his ill fate and Gismor would be long gone. That had been the plan and a splendid scheme it was.

As his laughter faded, a hand lifted and adjusted the brooch that held his black cape over his shoulders, "Oh, Oror. It looks like you're having difficulty. Here, let me help you up." His right hand extended and he leaned over, just enough to hold the weight of his body upon his feet.

The general of the Knights of the Seal looked up at Gismor with wounded eyes. This was how it felt to be betrayed by one of his most trusted allies? Oror realized it far too late, it seemed. He was a strong man, though. If only he could hold on for a little bit longer. He could get help. He could pull through this. He could return one hundred fold and even greater. If only he could survive this moment.

Foolishly, he grasped for Gismor's hand. He was hoisted briefly. Then the splitting pain of a boot met his sternum and he was thrown back. When had his opponent become so strong? His body, parallel to the ground used the strength he could conjure to lift his head once more and look to the dark-haired man. No matter how blurry his vision had become, there was no mistaking the gleeful expression Gismor held. His eyes betrayed him.

"Gismor…" he sputtered before his world fell into darkness.

"You are no longer a boulder in my road," was the response.

With a stiff turn, Gismor rested a hand upon the hilt of his sword. At any moment, Verdelet and Seere would be making their rounds. It was time for him to make himself scarce.

_You played the part of a hero, Oror. And then you died like a hero. There are some who prefer to see their heroes die. That makes us a corrupted society, doesn't it? That we would be so thrilled by death. Even I acquire a strange magnetism for the idea of something that withdraws our souls._

"That is to be expected, however," he continued aloud, "for I play the part of the villain."

----------

Gismor had formerly been a soldier in the Empire during the war that had taken place over fifteen years prior. They were fighting against the Union, led by a naïve prince who likely had no idea what he was truly attempting to accomplish. The only good thing Gismor had pulled from the experience was that he admired the drive and the ambition of the young man leading the militia. He must have been doing something right, because he continued to chisel away at the Empire. At the end, unfortunately Gismor's side had lost. Quality versus quantity, perhaps, but the number of soldiers in the Empire had fallen by the time the Cult of the Watchers began to turn their means onto the monsters and creatures of the Underworld instead.

He had stayed until the end, however; he had wanted to see how it would play out. Could a young girl conquer the land? And if so, he had to have the power she'd somehow miraculously obtained. His plot at the time had convinced him to take everything she held in her juvenile fingertips. Yet the same naïve prince responsible for the Union's victory over the Empire had put a stop to that. Before Gismor had even the chance to inquire as to the explanation behind the cult, the young girl was taken into custody.

That grew not to matter, however. The man behind the prince took it upon himself to establish the Knights of the Seal in order to protect the world. It was a precautionary measure to ensure that never again would Drakengard fall into chaos and sit at the feet of monstrous babies as a sacrifice. Gismor had truly believed he would become food for the grotesqueries and had often questioned how he came to still live. Life was not to be taken for granted after that. Only those with strength and power would live to see the following day. If one was weak, then it was likely that a death was befitting him.

Members of the Empire and the Union had been joined together for the first time in the name of a common cause. Nearly seeing their beloved homes destroyed, and having lost many friends and family in the war, no one was eager to experience the same events again. As a result, they were able to resolve their differences and approach the security of the world with widely-opened eyes and broad perspectives.

This newly-found way of life, however, did not result in good consequences for all, however. It was the obligation of the Knights of the Seal to eradicate any and all threats. This began as a means of taking those who had supported the Cult of the Watchers and imprisoning them in the various districts throughout Drakengard. They were to be used as sacrifices to the Gods, so the rest of the land could live in prosperity for one more day. It was seen as a cruel and barbaric action, but done for the good of the majority, it was accepted. Those who had caused the destruction of the war seventeen years before deserved this ending. Therefore, without heavy hearts, and without regrets, the knights fulfilled their duties impeccably.

Gismor found himself in Oror's position. Verdelet had been kind enough to place him as the general of the Knights of the Seal. Gismor wore this title proudly. He was the perfect man to fill Oror's shoes, and not a knight disagreed. His methods were unquestionable. His will was absolute. What he said needed to be done was thought to come from direct orders given by Verdelet or Seere. The former was beginning to outlast his usefulness. Soon he would pass and his apprentice would take his place, and due to a pact, Seere would be lasting for an eternity.

Unfortunately.

It was a new obstruction placed before Gismor. He couldn't have the throne if Seere continued to live for eons. As a result, something would need to be done about that. That was one scheme he'd not quite put together yet. In order to keep the fire from starting beneath his feet, however, he'd taken quite a liking to having someone do his work for him. After all, that's what Hanch and the others were for. He could use them until they had expended themselves, and then he would simply need to replace them with other idiotic victims.

Gismor truly believed he would reach his desired caste without much in his way. This overconfidence emanated from him until Oror's adoptive son, Nowe, had entered the picture. Like his elder, he was a formidable opponent. He grew up in the company of the knights and had been raised with the belief that all actions performed were in the name of what was righteous. By this time, Gismor's blackened heart had already begun to corrode his being, the way damp silver would rust away when not properly attended to.

Influenced by the leader of a rebellion, Nowe quickly made his way from ally to enemy. The moment he'd begun to show signs of turning against his family, Gismor's full attention was placed upon him. Something had to be done. Anything. Oror's offspring had to be stopped, no matter what the cost.

_Like father, like son._

Nowe would die the same way his elder had. Before that would happen, however, Nowe would hear exactly how the man he idolized had passed onto the afterlife. While it was so easy to acquire gratification by killing someone, there was something enticing about crushing a boy's spirit. Nowe had still been young, and not yet a man. There was the possibility that he would shed tears and reveal his true weakness to those who once considered him friend.

Everything had been perfect. At least, that was what Gismor had thought at the time. He employed the services of Hanch once more, pleased to find that his hypothesis on her useful nature had come to be true. With poisoned water, undetectable to the human nose, Nowe was cast into the same boat that Oror had toppled from. That was when things had gone wrong.

Something had happened to Nowe. _Something._ What that might have been, Gismor was unaware. Yes, Nowe had been known as the Dragon Child, but the general had thought nothing of it. He was a plain and simple boy, after all. How much conflict could one sniveling little brat bring about?

Plenty.

The moment a flash sprang from his young and lithe form, Gismor knew something would go awry. His own reflexes were nothing as they had been back in the days of the Empire. He could have been the strongest man in the Knights of the Seal and it wouldn't have mattered. With blinding speed, Nowe had come at him and he had been unable to defend himself. The sword the boy carried had sliced through his arm so cleanly that not even a spindle of bone broke past the perfect cut.

He'd screamed in pain.

And the soldiers were sent after the child.

After Nowe had escaped, the orders were clear. The Knights of the Seal were to hunt down the Dragon Child along with his comrade, the leader of the rebellion. He would be brought to swift justice. He would pay the consequences for Gismor's lost arm. When the general thought all was lost, he was approached by the Shadow, and to regain his dominant hand, he entered into a pact with it.

----------

Gismor brought his left hand to his right shoulder, gauntleted fingertips examining his appendage. His dark eyes looked over the throne room from his seat. He sat in the place reserved for Verdelet, and later Hierarch Seere.

Turning his cold eyes onto the knight at his right, he growled angrily, "Has the Demon Child been located?"

He was rewarded with a tremble and a rather meek voice echoing from the knight's helm. "N-no, General Gismor. We have received no update from the last aircraft you sent in the direction of the City of Rust. They are likely on their way to another district, though it has not been confirmed which one."

"Hmph," Gismor snorted with distaste. "He must be found post-haste. He must be found and destroyed. Relay the message to another aircraft before they depart that upon locating him, he is to be shot immediately, and his dragon as well, if they are together."

"And what of the girl?"

The girl. The red-eyed girl that invoked even a fear somewhere deep within Gismor. He had seen her before. He knew her from somewhere. At least, he thought he had. His years were growing old, but he knew better than to believe he was succumbing to madness.

General Gismor snarled before back-handing the foolish knight at his side, "Kill her, you blundering idiot!"

The knight saluted stiffly, shaken up by the gesture. Then with a rigid form, he turned and excused himself without hesitance. It had seemed that were he to overstay his welcome, Gismor would quite easily strike him down. After all, he was disposable. He could simply be replaced by another.

"Yes…" Gismor grumbled to himself. "Kill the Demon Child. Kill the dragon. Kill that obnoxious wench."

_They must all die. Then we'll continue with Verdelet and Seere, but that won't be the end of it. Oh, no. That won't be the end at all. No one must stand in my way for the conquest of the throne._

Then his lips parted and once more he crossed the line that separated man from demon and his laughter filled the room, clinging to the tension in the air.

"Yes! They must all die! **Kill them all!**"

A man driven by his desire for revenge and the goal of destroying the obstacles on his pathway, General Gismor was in danger. His eyes, twisted with hate, his heart corrupted by loathing, his being consumed by the yearning for war; he was blinded. It would come to pass that he could no longer identify a difference between friend and foe.

A fitting end for a villain.


	4. Acedia

**Acedia**

_"Mother… I'll be good, I swear! Please don't hurt me, Mommy!"_

Her chin lifted quickly and she nearly found her left arm colliding with the lantern to her left. Raising a hand into her hair, she drew her fingertips across her forehead. There were those worry lines again. It was to be expected, though. Just when she thought that things would calm down, something happened that automatically drew her right back into that coffin of torment.

"Mother…" she murmured to herself before leaning forward and resting against the desk again. "…I'm so sorry, Mother…"

She was crying again.

----------

"Is your lady friend quite all right?" Urick asked with a jerk of his head in her direction.

Nowe glanced over to the blonde-haired female at his side. She looked as though she was miles and miles away, perhaps so far that not even Legna could reach her. Red eyes stared at the sky with a preoccupied expression lying behind them. No matter what she could have said, he wouldn't be convinced. There was definitely something bothering her. In fact, it had begun the moment she'd seen the one-eyed man in the City of Rust. What was it about him that controlled her so much? Why did she look so pained?

He reached over cautiously with a hand and prodded her gently in the side. "Manah?"

His companion nearly jumped and she looked between Urick and Nowe thoughtfully. She'd done it again, it seemed. Manah brushed herself off and shook her head slowly. "I'm sorry. Did I miss something important?"

Urick felt his eyebrows furrow. He couldn't agree that nonchalance was the way to go about all of this. Of course, Nowe was giving him the look that told him not to confront it with that lack of tact he was so good at holding.

"Maybe we should leave you here with the dragon," he finally decided to stay. "You might be of more use here than with us. Not that I'm doubting your abilities or anything like that. I just think you would be better off here. It's hard to block those balls of fire and the blocks of ice when you're busy staring off into space."

"Urick!" Nowe exclaimed with the warning tone.

Manah looked between the two and she felt hurt for a moment. One more person was telling her that she wasn't useful. Urick was her friend, though, and she wanted to believe he would never say something to her to intentionally hurt her. Those words held some degree of nostalgia for her, however. She wasn't sure if her mother had ever said those things, but it wouldn't be completely out of the ordinary.

Eighteen years had passed and she had tried to repress the memories. Even as she stood there, she could only see glimpses of what had happened. They were like flashing pictures. They only lasted for moments, and it was only during the situations where her quick reflexes were crucial. In that respect, perhaps she _could_ be considered a bit of a nuisance. After all, if the other two couldn't rely on her for help, then she was better off not being involved.

"I'm really sorry," she began to plead. Her lips turned down and her expression grew desperate. No matter what happened, she didn't want Nowe and Urick to abandon her. Of all the things in the world to happen, she couldn't have _that_.

"Don't worry about it, Manah," Nowe replied.

He patted her on the shoulder and he smiled rather brightly. He was always the one reassuring her. She clearly had her own issues that he didn't need to be involved with. He didn't need to pry. Yes, she sometimes made things a little more difficult, but if he didn't get anything by exerting some effort, then he didn't deserve anything. The hard work paid off, even when it caused by an ally.

Urick sighed. Once more, they were at her compassion, it seemed. "I was just looking out for your best interest. Don't look so upset, princess. Frowns aren't becoming on ladies. Try to smile a little more, all right? You really do look much better when you're wearing one."

With a lifted hand, he gestured to his own smirk and he nodded once, as though to confirm his words.

_Oh, Urick… You do have a valid point. And I suppose a part of me believes you could be pretty enough to be a lady too. If a smile looks so good on you, then it must on me as well._

"I will try," Manah managed to reply.

That seemed good enough for her two companions. Then again, had she paid attention, she might have realized that Nowe was not a hard man to please. Well, young man. He was younger than her, wasn't he? By a good six or seven years, at least. As she looked between the two, she folded her arms over her chest, and decided to herself that Urick must have been older by a great deal—except he didn't look it.

_How does he keep such a youthful complexion? This man looks as though he could be my age._

She thought idly of her brother, Seere, who was making his name known throughout the lands of Drakengard. Would he remember her? Did he think of her? They were twins, after all. She imagined that they likely felt the same when it came to sentimental concepts. She often wondered how he was doing, and what he was like. She knew well enough that he was still in that small body of his, the price of the pact he'd made with Golem. They were the same age, and yet… It wouldn't seem it from an initial glance.

"And look at that. She's flown off into space all over again. You had better just take her by force. Perhaps we _can_ get away with bringing your dragon as well. Perhaps." Urick nudged Nowe again in order to get his attention.

The boy most commonly referred to as the 'saviour' faced his father's friend and he nodded. "We may not have a choice, Urick. Thankfully we have you to keep us going on our journey. I am grateful to you."

It was the last thing that Manah's ears picked up before she found an arm curled around hers. Into the direction of the City of Rust.

----------

He was staring at her with those eyes again. His lips were moving, but he wasn't saying anything. Well, not with his voice. She was reading his words. He was telling her to keep her eyes open and to look over the world.

_Remember the things you have done. Remember these things and hold them in your heart. You may be a child, but you have also been forced to grow up. I am here to watch you grow up. You will become a woman who will pay the consequences for your actions. You will be hated. You will be pitied. You will be punished for your hatred that you took out upon the world._

It was no great secret that if it had been up to him, the blade of his sword would have neatly sliced her throat and likely lobbed her head off. He always looked so angry, she thought, even through the veil of tears that often clouded her sight. He looked so upset. He looked so hurt. He was like an animal, helpless to an extent and frightened. What was there to come? He must have been wondering this. In fact, she was wondering it too. When he took her all over Drakengard, what would he do next? Perhaps he would simply grasp her hand tightly and restart the journey all over again. Would she never be given a chance to rest? Would he never offer her the ability to sleep a peaceful sleep?

_I don't deserve it. I'm so sorry… I'm really, really sorry! I didn't mean to! I didn't want to hurt anyone! Please don't hurt me anymore!_

Those were the kinds of words that often went ignored. He had once said something along the lines of actions being far more significant than words, and that had provoked her crying. Apparently weeping, however, held no power or influence over him, or those simply weren't the actions that he was looking for. So if those weren't good enough, then what was he looking for?

Manah would spend those years with him and another fifteen contemplating the answer. And she would never come to find it.

Her situation caused her to lash out. In the name of her own protection, in the name of what she believed was best for her, she took a knife to his left eye and pried it from his skull before taking off into the night. She was free. She was liberated. She was the bird that was no longer caged. Consumed by her sorrow in her childhood, Manah fled to a village in the outskirts of the world, a place where she would never be found until she wished it, and there, she lived in an uneasy peace and tranquility. Over time, she forgot of the pain she'd caused. With progression, she grew into a beautiful young woman who believed she was following the path of the righteous.

_I must destroy the seals and save these people. They are sacrificed by the Knights of the Seal. What is their crime? Breathing the air? Smelling the flowers? It is my position to protect them. I __**will**__ protect them. I will save them, and in order to do this, those seals must be destroyed._

She aged with this belief, truly convinced that she was doing what was proper. Her past and her regrets were locked away in a chest, thrust into the depths of her heart, never to be opened again. Yet she was following the same path she had years before.

It came back to her the moment she saw him in the city. That particular man. The one-eyed man.

----------

"No!"

Manah shrieked, planting her hands over her ears. She shut her eyes tightly and immediately curled up. If she hadn't, it was most likely that she would have begun to roll back and forth, the way a child does when it's about to set out on a temper tantrum.

"Mother, forgive me! Mother, don't hurt me! Mother, I'm sorry! Mother, I just want you to love me!"

Could that creature ever have been capable of love, though? The woman who called herself the mother of Manah and Seere? Logical thought often wandered on its own when feelings were involved. It would be a hard lesson learned, if ever learned at all.

Manah _was_ loved. She just failed to see it. One could choose to say that she was loved by her friends, that she was loved by Nowe and by Urick. Perhaps, she may have even been loved by Eris, who in her own right had the privilege of hating the blonde-haired woman. She was loved by her brother as well. Blinded by her sorrow, however, she was unable to recognize it. In the end, it may have been that the type of love they held for her was not what she defined as love at all. The love of a friend, or of a sibling was not the same as the type of love offered by a mother.

There was another love that she neglected to acknowledge. It was this love that turned her into the creature she had begun. She was loved by the Gods. She was loved by the Nameless. She was loved by the Grotesqueries. She was loved, indeed, and she had forced this love away. With, or without the influence of others, Manah had cast them aside.

For that, she would suffer an eternal punishment. Her ungrateful nature would be marked, heeded, and observed. Manah would simply pay with her life.

It was the doomed position of a pawn.


	5. Ira

**Ira**

Tears.

He had not shed these until that fated moment. Not even when his sister plunged a knife into her body. Not even when his best friend had been stripped from his side. Perhaps not even when his parents met their end at the jaws of a dragon. Through all of these events, his expression merely contorted. The pain could be seen so easily within his gaze, but not once did he find himself crying.

Caim was not the sort of man to weep. He had far too much pride. To do such a thing would mean opening himself and exposing vulnerabilities. As a result, it was likely that opposition would take advantage of him. Instead, his sorrow turned into hatred, into loathing, and into blood thirst. The only thing that would quell the pain he experienced was the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he was pursuing his victims.

In spite of this mindset, however, he could not be considered an overly cruel man. Caim was doing what he believed was right. His intentions were truly to be considered good. The Empire had to be destroyed. Caim's reasons for this were mostly selfish and consisted of the need to avenge his parents and later, Furiae. When Verdelet approached him, however, he had other ideas in mind.

----------

"Lord Caim, Drakengard needs you. The Empire will crush us at this rate! We must stop them! If we do not, then this world is finished. The end will come and we will all suffer horrifying deaths!"

Caim regarded the bald man carefully. The shine of his head was often mesmerizing. That, and the odd markings he held. He seemed to know what it was, however. He'd heard rumours of such things taking place. An agreement between the legendary and the common. A pact, it was otherwise known as. A pact also meant relying on the other that the pact was created with. For that reason alone, Caim believed he would never enter into something so ridiculous.

"Prince, you did hear me, did you not?" Verdelet pleaded.

The leader of the Union scoffed to himself, turning away from the priest. "You're asking me to get involved in something that I don't want to be in the middle of. It would mean endangering my sister, and if you think I'm going to do that, you'll be the first person I sacrifice."

Furiae. She was the most important person in the world to him. She was all that he had. She would need to be protected, and there was no better person for that position than him. Of course, in some other direction, there was Inuart, a rather dear friend to him, and the man Caim believed would take his sister's hand. A brother's grasp over his sibling, however, was something stronger than he had initially come to believe. It would be a hard lesson for him to learn later on.

"That is what I am trying to explain, Lord Caim. The Empire seeks to destroy the seals. Should they accomplish this task, they will surely kill your sister as well. The end of the world is nigh! The end of the world is nigh!"

_Won't this man ever just __**stop**__? I'm tired of having to listen to his lectures. He constantly complains that I do things incorrectly. That I am somehow lacking in righteous mannerisms. I'm waiting for this geezer to die. Why is this world continuing to let him thrive?!_

Caim turned stiffly and in a swift motion, he held the edge of his blade to Verdelet's neck. His reactionary time was considered to be one of the best in the land. It may have been something he acquired from training with his father. Where it came from, not even Furiae knew. Caim discouraged talk with regards to his paternal and maternal units, and normally answered such inquiries with an icy glare.

"You're telling me that the Empire has plans of killing Furiae because she's the goddess," he growled.

When he received a trembling nod in response, his blue eyes narrowed with that loathing that boiled in the depths of his heart. He had lost his parents to them already. He would not lose his sister as well. That could not happen. That would not happen. And if he knew Verdelet, the possibility of a negotiation with the Empire was not possible. Not that he wanted it to be. He would have rather seen his blade through the neck of the Empire's leader.

"I see. I may have no choice then," Caim finally replied after moments of contemplative silence. He drew his sword down and sheathed it. "If you are somehow wrong, you do know what the consequences will be, don't you? I refuse to have my time wasted by a cretin who believes he can do no wrong."

Perhaps Verdelet was aware of Caim's dislike for him. In the end, Caim didn't like anyone except Furiae and Inuart. That was to be expected. The world had constantly let him down, and therefore the world failed to be an appropriate ally. It was because of those incidents early on that his faith had fallen—assuming he had any in the first place. Caim almost didn't seem human, the way he judged others. His sister was placed on an unreachable pedestal and his respect in Inuart seemed endless. Why could no other have these same privileges.

Verdelet swallowed, and audibly so at that. "…I do seem to understand where you are going with this. I can reassure you that the Empire will do this. We have already encountered many threats with them. The Union, that is. The Empire is saying that it has allied with the Cult of the Watchers. They have been employed under them."

Caim did not respond immediately. The Cult of the Watchers. This was the first time he'd heard this name. He knew nothing of the cult. He knew not what or the Watchers may have been. As a result, with this new information, it was implied that it was not the Empire that was bent on destroying the seals. It was the cult. The Empire was simply helping it along.

Was it worse to be the antagonist? Or perhaps it could be considered crueler to aid the antagonist. Either way, it only darkened Caim's perspective in regards to the participating parties.

In the distance, he could see the structure that housed his sister, the castle of the goddess. In actuality, it was the home he had grown up in along with her. Following the death of their parents, however, Caim spent little time there. He wandered the towns, analyzing the people and their plights. He spent time in the outskirts of the villages with Inuart, hunting and discussing plans for the future.

Furiae was likely reading. Most of the time when he went to visit her, he found her face buried in books. Those were the items that helped her escape from the hand that she had been dealt. He knew she didn't like being the Goddess of the Seal. He worried about her constantly for being in that position as well. He could have no weaknesses of his own, for he already had the one that would hit hardest if it was lost. She was his entire world now. Even Inuart played a small part in Caim's life compared to her.

"What will you do, Lord Caim?" Verdelet finally found the courage to speak again.

The prince turned and with a demeanour that might have defined his status well, he replied succinctly, "We will crush the Empire and the Cult of the Watchers."

----------

The threats from the Empire paved the road toward war with the Union. Caim took to the front lines, fulfilling his position as the lord of his lands. His ambition and his fiery determination would set the bar for those who followed him. He was considered to be an admirable man. Of course, those who claimed this may not have truly known what it was that drove him, what it was that motivated him. Furiae was only part of it, and it became apparent the day the Empire came to the castle where the goddess stayed and invaded.

Metal flew. Blood stained the grounds. Bodies became decoration for the courtyards. Arrows blotted out the light in the sky. War was at times, described in beautiful ways in the books that Furiae read. The real event, however, was not aesthetically pleasing. War was morbid. War was primitive. War was barbaric. Those who chose to involve themselves in it were no better. Furiae had long since chosen to forgive her older brother, however. In the name of protecting her, she became his lady fair. That was how she chose to see herself, and like a romantic faerietale, prided herself on that title.

For the unfortunate, time did not stop the moment death struck. A sword could impale a soldier and the world was not kind. Perhaps to that person, he saw all that he had accomplished up until that moment. Perhaps he saw his family, a possible wife and child that he would leave behind to suffer from food shortages and the occasional drought. Perhaps he remembered his childhood and felt remorse for the mistakes that he'd made in his life. Or perhaps he regretted never having married in the first place. On the outside perspective, while it may have felt like eons before the soldier would experience true death, it was only over in a matter of seconds.

Mourning was brief, as a result.

Heartless as it may have seemed, Caim cared little for the lives of his men. Possibly. Surely there was a part of him that worried over a lack of support. His thoughts lingered on the consequences if he didn't succeed. With a burning sensation, however, he wouldn't ever let someone strike him down. If that somehow happened, they would join him in the depths of Hell, because he was positive that was where he was going—likely because Verdelet had spent years of his life telling Caim that exact thing.

With arrows piercing his armour and a deep wound to his side, Caim ignored the blood trail that followed him. His subconscious knew that he was close to death, yet refused to reveal that truth to him. He stumbled through the courtyard between his sister's chambers and the castle's entrance. His right arm hung loosely, trembling at the weight of his sword. His left hand planted over his wound tightly, though he seemed aware that at this point it would do no good.

He found himself pausing at the sight of a dragon. He sneered angrily. Dragons. Creatures of the underworld. The creature responsible for the death of his parents. Well, not this one in particular, but Caim's hatred for dragons led him to believe they were all capable of the same action. They should have been eradicated.

Stopping at the head, his eyes picked up the subtle splatters of blood, far darker than his. This dragon, too, was on its very edge of life.

_Perhaps I'll help it along._

He began to raise his blade and found himself pausing when he considered his own predicament. If he died, Furiae would fall. He could not let that happen. Inuart would not be able to save her. It would be up to Caim. He was the only one who could play that part in her life, he decided.

A pact.

Dragons were legendary creatures. Verdelet had said as much in his analysis. If that was the case, then Caim would extract what he needed from his current companion. His expression grew sinister and his eyes gleamed.

"I refuse to die here," he said to the dragon. "I _refuse_ to die here. A pact. We'll make a pact."

Caim was not accustomed to resistance. That was what he was met with when the dragon responded. The tone was feminine and with a very straight forward reaction, she refused the aid of any human. It intrigued the prince. This creature hated him as much as he hated it.

"You can either die at the hands of a human, or you can grant me this pact," he offered as the ultimatum.

She seemed as ruled by her pride, as he by his. Yet he would see that she would succumb to him.

And submit she did.

----------

Caim simply glanced between Verdelet and the companion that had followed him throughout Drakengard.

"I will become the next Goddess of the Seal," the dragon offered Verdelet.

As though he was given no option of opinion in the matter, Caim could only watch helplessly as Verdelet recited the necessary verse in that ancient tongue of his. With his arms around the neck of the creature he had come to care for, his head inclined. Face pressed against hard, damp scales, tears streamed down his cheeks. He had already lost so much. His parents. Furiae. Inuart. Arioch. Leonard. Only Seere remained. Seere, and Verdelet, and the girl responsible for his loss, Manah. How could he give up his dragon as well?

"Caim," she spoke, for the first time perhaps in what seemed to be tenderness. "My name is Angelus. You are the first, and the last of your kind to know of it."

_Angelus… What a beautiful name…_

With the final weavings of Verdelet's spell, she became the last seal to protect the world of Drakengard. Caim was left with the responsibility of showing Manah the error of her ways. She became the daughter he never wanted to have. Under the orders of Verdelet, he gripped her hand and began the journey.

_You must remember everything that has happened. You must atone for the sins you have committed against the world. To ensure that this happens, I will watch over you. This is the least I can do for my sister, for Inuart, and for the others who were lost in this battle for peace._

Once more Caim was plunged into a state of eternal despair.

----------

Silence had been his companion, in between the tears of his young companion. It became his only ally when she escaped him, rewarding him with the loss of his left eye. In his travels on his own, unable to find Manah, Caim suffered from dreams of those in the past, including Angelus. He often dreamt of her crying out for him, begging him for her release.

He understood not why until he confronted Verdelet.

"Sealing the dragon was not the same as sealing your sister. Her bonds cause her to suffer far more than Furiae ever would have. I had no choice, Lord Caim," the hierarch had explained.

And Caim's hatred grew. He had tolerated Verdelet before, his incessant whining and his holier-than-thou stature.

_I will save her then. Save her from your grasps, Verdelet. I will free her of the burden. I care not what happens to this world. Find some other victim for your twisted solutions to the world's safety._

The prince's expression was painfully obvious. Verdelet knew what he was thinking. "If you do this, I will be forced to stop you, Lord Caim. I cannot let you endanger this world because of your sentimental feelings. I do not wish to harm you, but I will if it is the best for this world."

Verdelet was offered a glare in reply.

_Then I will bathe Drakengard in your blood!_


	6. Invidia

**Invidia**

His eyes narrowed. Glorious scarlet eyes that reminded him of fire, and passion. In fact, it was passion that had brought him this far in life. It was his passion that had been the catalyst for his actions. That passion was to blame. That passion was at fault.

When he was younger, those sorts of thoughts could be easily quelled when met by his best friend. He would tread only so far, and when he overstepped his boundaries, he knew to retract his footsteps. Yes, perhaps there was an intimidation present, but what he saw was something so much more.

From the first time he met Furiae, he was one hundred percent certain that she was the woman he wanted to marry. She was the woman he wanted to coddle. She was the woman whose tears he wanted to kiss away. She was the woman he wanted to plunge into his sheets. She was the woman he wanted to procreate with many times over. There was no other woman in his heart and so stubborn was he, that he refused to let it be in any other order.

There was something so endearing about the shy way her lips would upturn, something about the way pink would kiss her cheeks when she was offered compliments. And to set it all perfectly, her lovely blue eyes that glistened with a naïve brooding.

He had truly believed that he could be able to hold her dainty hand within his and they would be happy. Happy together; happy forever. _He_ would be happy forever. He loved her and held her upon a pedestal so high that to him, there could be no replacement. No one could possibly live up to her status and as far as he was concerned, that wouldn't change.

Somewhere along the lines, this all changed. She would not—could not be his, not in the way he'd wanted her to be. He would be forced to give her up to someone else—some_thing_ else. That was the original intent, the one he did not choose, but was forced to abide by. For although he wanted her with all of his aching heart, his sense of what was morally proper coerced him to do what was truly right.

They had been adolescents, all three of them, when it happened. Her brother, Caim, the oldest perhaps, at about eighteen or twenty. Verdelet, a priest held in high regard had explained the plights of the world. If there was no protective seal on the lands of Drakengard, then the end would come. Why, there were other seals, of course, and in order to get close to destruction the others would need to be broken first, yet Verdelet persisted.

_"Should the need arise, we would need a final stronghold against that which would do unto us evil deeds."_

For this 'stronghold', he would need a sacrifice, in a manner of speech. He knew not to use that world, for a couple of rather great swordsmen would help him to his inevitable ending, and a little too soon at that. Instead, he claimed that he would need a woman of great chastity, purity, and righteousness. He chose beautiful Furiae, who gave her reluctant consent.

After all, the fate of the world was a very important one indeed.

Furiae's position meant she was to remain untouched and celibate. No marriage to the man who loved her. No lying together upon the sheets of his bed, filling the nights with sounds of that sacred intimacy. No bringing into the world little Furiae's. It was a shattered dream, it seemed.

So Inuart, as the man in question was called, decided he would free her from her constraints. He did not know how. He did not know when. He only knew he would attempt to do this, and that he would succeed. He told himself that it was liberation for her, though it was more likely meant for him. He would condemn the world to a repulsive Hell in favour of possessing the woman he loved.

Was that truly love, though? To simply take something or someone…?

Inuart was not heartless. He believed that Furiae returned his feelings. He believed that she cherished him, as he did her. And if she did not, he believed he could persuade her to, even if it took a lifetime.

Ah, in a world of greys, Inuart's love for Furiae may have been the darkest shade.

Malevolence black.

He had seen it once or twice in their progression through the ages. There were eyes that Furiae held, eyes that should not have been seen. If so, these were the types that should only have been seen behind closed doors. These were the types that Inuart should have seen directed to only him. Bedroom eyes, he liked to call them. Bedroom eyes that were filled with the type of love and yearning that could make a grown man wretch if he wasn't prepared to have a family. These were the eyes Furiae had.

And she had them for Caim.

And oh! How Inuart's blood would boil! Hatred would fill his veins. Loathing would creep into his sights. Envy would stain his expression, masked by a deep disapproval.

How could this be?! Inuart was the man who loved her! Inuart was the man who wanted to save her! Inuart, Inuart, Inuart, Inuart, Inuart!

_**Inuart!**_

At first, he wanted to blame Furiae. He wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until her locks of brown obstructed her gaze. There was a chance, he knew, that he would hurt her, and if such a thing ever happened, he would sooner take his sword and pierce his own heart. Even if they could not live in the world together, he was ready and willing to force himself into the afterlife.

Motivated by his fears over what would happen to his dearest love, Inuart turned his immediate dislike onto her brother. Caim had, in one way or another, bewitched her! That was the only explanation and even then, Inuart had no idea how to properly submit proof or evidence.

Drakengard wasn't run on evidence, however. If one did or did not see someone steal, or had an ill feeling about a person, said individual could be incarcerated based on a meager sixth sense that potentially could not exist. It was a frightening idea, but one Inuart wanted to use against Caim.

Caim's social status, unfortunately, did not allow for this. The son of nobility, he inherited the throne of a palace following the death of his parents. As a result, he became known as a lord, and even more rare, a prince; and Furiae, a lady, and a princess.

The simple realization caused Inuart's heart to sink even further. Was there no way for him to win? Was he caught in this never-ending turmoil?

He had lost hope and as a result, fell into the maze of despair. This sort of conflict was experienced differently by everyone. It also meant that the pathway to save one's self from despair was different for each who experienced it. Most people could obtain help from others to get through these times, but the only two people he could rely on were the ones responsible for putting him into his position. Neither Caim nor Furiae would be of any relevant use to him. Perhaps in another time. Perhaps on another day. Perhaps for an entirely different situation.

When the war began between the Union and the Empire, Inuart was quick to join Caim's side. Not so much for his benefit, but more for his sister's protection. Not yet aware of the extent of Furiae's feelings for Caim, Inuart had held no hostility the moment he lifted his harp and began to bless them with a song.

It was only when they were forced apart that Inuart had begun to nurse his festering jealousy. He had help, though. Again, Inuart was not a naturally cruel or barbaric man. If looked at from Furiae's perspective, she might have said that Inuart, like all other people, was born inherently good. It took outside influences to corrupt someone, or to attempt to, and her brother's closest friend was hardly any different.

It was the doing of the Watchers.

Inuart had heard of them before. Caim had spoken with him prior to the beginning of the Empire's invasion. He'd complained about Verdelet's incessant whining and his obligation as 'Lord Caim' to protect the lands of the Union. Caim's information was limited, however, likely due to Verdelet's reluctance to part with what might have been necessary.

What the two young men _did_ know, was that the Cult of the Watchers, whoever they might have been, had allied with the Empire, the Union's formidable adversary.

----------

_"It matters not the number they have, but rather the strength in their numbers," Caim spoke rather roughly._

_Inuart eyed him closely, "As sound as that may be, a small brigade will be unable to protect the Union from any impending attack."_

_Caim hissed in reply, a sound that was only growing more frequently anticipated, "The Empire is filled with nothing but pigs! I'll __**destroy**__ them all!"_

_"And what of the cult? Surely you do not think you could do it all on your own, Caim."_

_The lord was quiet for a moment, surely choosing his words carefully. The inability to act without thought did not always represent idiocy and Caim was often a fine example of such._

_"The Union soldiers under my command," he began calmly, "are prepared to the fullest. Trained by my family and trained by me, they'll not fall easily. Anyone who does, clearly was not worthy of being a follower of mine."_

_Inuart could do nothing except accept this response. It was very much like Caim to answer a question with subtlety and ferocity at the same time. Even without fully explaining himself, he could get his point across quite succinctly._

_"Such confidence ought to be thought of highly. Let us hope your soldiers suffer from the same," Inuart offered as encouragement. Then his eyebrows furrowed in potential confusion, "Have we a reason as to why this… cult and the Empire seek war? The Union has made no actions against them, either one, of course."_

_"The high priest says that they are here to take the Goddess of the Seal. It is their intent to bring destruction to the world. That it what he said he envisioned."_

_"You mean Verdelet? They say tha—"_

_"Don't say his name," Caim interrupted in that familiar exasperated tone. "The man is a raving lunatic."_

_Inuart paused. Perhaps discussing Verdelet in any prospect was not a wise decision._

_"They've come for Furiae then?"_

_"Yes."_

_"And you will fight?"_

_"…Yes."_

_He'd said it, but he didn't sound very sure of himself. Well, perhaps 'uncertainty' wasn't the word to use. He didn't sound pleased about it. No one liked fighting, of course, unless it was for a good reason. Inuart knew of the death of Caim's parents. Caim was likely burning with the desire to slit some Empire throats, but beyond that, he probably didn't care._

_Yet he was still going._

_"Then I'll go as well," Inuart decided._

_Caim rewarded him with a hard look, "Don't be an idiot. She'd never forgive me if something happened to you. I can't afford to hold your hand on the field either. You'll only hold me back."_

_They were harsh words, but Inuart knew Caim meant the best by them. He was pretending to say that Inuart was a weakness, and perhaps he was. Beneath all of that, however, Caim was thinking of what was best for Furiae. What a selfless man._

_"Nor would she forgive me if something happened to you. Are you willing to die for her, Caim?"_

_Without skipping a beat, Caim's reply sprung forth, "She is my sister."_

----------

It had been in that moment that Inuart knew one of two things had happened. Caim was either completely oblivious to the feelings Furiae held for him, or he had been in denial. Both were plausible, and Inuart had never chosen to ask. It was not his right. It was not his place. Worst of all, however, it was humiliating. That his own beloved would choose her brother over him.

In his time away from Caim, Inuart was held by the Empire and the Cult of the Watchers. Having never seen the face of the one who held ultimate command over the Union's opposition, he only knew that he had fallen victim to his own envy. It was used against him, and Inuart became a twisted man.

_**All mine. Furiae, all mine. All mine. All mine.**_

_**No man can have her. No man. Not even Caim.**_

_**Loves only me. Looks only to me.**_

_**Holds only me. Furiae. Loves only me, me. Me. Me.**_

_**She is my bride. She is my bride.**_

_**Her kisses are mine alone. Her love is mine alone.**_

_**If only I had more strength…**_

Like Caim, he chose the pathway of a pact, and gave up his singing voice. His intents were good, however. He aimed to protect the love of his life. He aimed to save Furiae from her tortured fate. He would not lose her to her position as the Goddess of the Seal. He would save her with his newfound strength.

And that was when he acquired a dragon for himself.

In his arms, he held Furiae, supported upon the back of a black dragon. He peered down to Caim with that hatred glowing behind his eyes. It was the first time he felt as though he was the empowered one. Age no longer made a difference. Social class no longer made a difference.

"Caim," he began with a sneer. "You have _lost_! Furiae is _mine_!"

He was met with an icy glare, one that he felt no fear from. Perhaps before, without this strength, without this power, Inuart would have been quick to flee. This time, his confidence went beyond that of the norm. Caim would not succeed. Not this time.

Inuart laughed, a hearty sound, one that vibrated throughout the idle air. With one hand, he tapped the scales of his dragon companion. Grasping onto the woman he loved, he took for the skies, unaware of what was to come.

Destiny played a part in his corruption, the same way it played a part in Furiae's predicament as the Goddess of the Seal. Inuart's inability to see past his envy toward Caim, however, also served as the unraveling thread to his survival.


	7. Superbia

**Superbia**

Ten-thousand years.

That was a long time to view the world with jaded eyes. That was a long time to be alive. It was scarcely enough to change the beliefs of a stubborn dragon.

A stubborn, prideful dragon at that.

**xxx**

On her last wings… That was what she had been on when she met Caim for the first time. His eyes read pure hatred. For her, she saw no compassion. She hadn't expected that, however, and she found herself categorizing him as a fool human.

"A dragon!"

He wasn't good at hiding how he felt. Humans were such fickle creatures. One day they could hate someone. A day later, they could love that person. If that was typical behaviour… She found it difficult that they could be faithful to one another.

Arrows penetrated her scales. Humans were such failures as one of the Goddess's creations, yet they had implements of great destruction. How twisted, bizarre, and corrupt these beings were.

Her head lifted and she regarded him carefully. His armour was stained with blood, and likely not his. She was well aware of the war between the Union and the Empire. What caught her attention was the idea that like her, he was on the verge of leaving the living world. In spite of this, however, his eyes were filled with such determination. It was what she found beyond that loathing. Ambition in a human. How… unexpected.

What came next also surprised her. To think that he would be so arrogant.

"What makes you worthy of a pact with me?"

"Worthy or not, I wish to live."

What a foolish human. Foolish, and yet something tempted her to accept.

"Now. Your answer. A pact or death."

"We are united by our need to live."

"Well?"

"Yes. A pact," came the raspy voice.

Newfound strength, and a newfound alliance was created. Onto the battlefield they charged, Caim's ambition added to her own.

**xxx**

_"So. Your voice is lost. A trifling price to pay for a pact."_

_"…"_

_"No matter, I shall speak for the both of us."_

Perhaps she felt sympathy for Caim. Chances were that even if he'd returned the ability to speak, he didn't have anything to say. She could just imagine obscenities pouring over his lips.

He was rendered mute, never again able to communicate his wants and desires with mere words. His partner considered the possibility that the price paid was randomly selected. Then she thought about the man she was bonded to. Caim was the sort to react rather than to speak. Actions first, ask questions later. Wasn't that a typical human trait?

It was a punishment, she decided. Caim took advantage of his voice and didn't truly appreciate it. Perhaps if he'd used it more, something else would have been taken from him instead.

It was a little too late for this, however. Caim had paid his price in full and there would be no negotiations.

In spite of his inability to speak, his thoughts were shared between him and the dragon. Many times it was a variety of lines, some that connected and others that did not. She found out who he was in terms of titles. She discovered what he'd been doing on the frontlines in the first place. And she saw beneath that stern demeanour and cruel nature that his actions were not made for simply him.

_"What think you of your sister's purity? She is the goddess, yet still a woman. The three of you… Have you grown accustomed to denying the truth? Caim. Can you sense your sister's thoughts? The passions of her soul?"_

She had said it all once before and he'd offered absolutely no response. As far as she was concerned, that was proof enough. One had to admit that his dedication was admirable.

What had she gotten herself into, though?

She came to discover that Caim would do whatever he pleased. She offered her chiding words to him. She gave to him her judgements. He was a bloodthirsty man, and even when children fell by his sword, his lust could not be quenched. What a horrifying man. Frightening and cold, but also capable of being generous and warm. Two different sides to a creature that seemed so heartless.

In the end, Caim meant the best. Perhaps. What he did was for the sake of his younger sister. She could not fault him for such.

The method to his madness, however, was questionable. While she hardly considered herself close to humans, there was even a small amount of horror she felt by Caim's actions. He killed with no mercy and nearly indiscriminately. If he had not been convinced that Verdelet and the others were set against the Empire, he likely would have struck them down as well.

She was the only one aside from his sister and Inuart who was truly safe in his midst.

**xxx**

If she'd had the ability to change things, Caim's partner often wondered if she would have. Her decisions, she'd decided early on, were not meant for mankind's benefit. They were for her, and those considered to be like her. The exception was Caim. Originally it was reluctance. After all, if something happened to him… It was bound to end up badly for both. She had no intentions of dying before her time. And Caim… Well, he had spirit and not of the typical human kind.

As they traveled together, Caim grew on her. She viewed him differently than his comrades. She'd never known a human who held a hatred as great as hers. She had noticed from the very beginning that his tone was demanding. She had assumed that he saw himself as superior. All fool humans seemed to think they were.

She was fortunate, however, for Caim was not merely a fool human. His words were not simply an abundance of confidence. Based on skill alone, he was certainly someone to be wary of. While he was an incredible leader, he worked far better on his own or with her. They traded authority and worked well together. He relied on her senses, knowing they were more acute than his. She relied on his determination, the trait that ensured neither one would fall on the field. Caim was as close to a dragon in human flesh as she would get.

This was realized perhaps too late.

The leader of the Cult of the Watchers had been subdued. It was a young girl, one that if she'd not been a dragon, the partner might have felt sympathy for. Even with Seere's explanation, however, it did not change what had happened. If it had only been her and Caim, his company would not have stopped him from killing the Watcher's child. Verdelet was a sentimental fool, however, and likely thinking of Seere's position as well. He had stopped Caim and likely had overlooked the apparent.

Humans were weak creatures by nature. Only by enduring pain did their strength increase. A child who was chosen by the Watchers to represent was hardly strong. She had opened herself to the idea. Her sorrow made way for subconscious desires. To be loved by anyone; it didn't matter by whom. As long as she could be held and coddled. She saw her possession as love and attention. Therefore, she must have been happy.

To make matters worse, Caim was placed under orders to take this girl under his proverbial wings. He was to raise her, the way a parent did a child. He was to mold her into a respectable woman, one who would never repeat her mistakes. For it was because of her that he'd lost what was held dear to him. To the depths of Hell went his sister and likely his best friend. Did Verdelet really expect him to forget all of that? Caim was strong to begin with; he did not need these events to add to that strength. Instead, little by little, he broke apart.

And even though she knew it would not ease his mourning, the dragon offered herself in Furiae's place. Even though it would leave Caim alone in his shattered state, she wanted him to live. She was strong, not weak like Furiae had been, or the previous goddess. It would take a great amount of power to sentence her to her death. Well aware of this, she found herself moved for the first time by a human.

Caim wept, some tears for him, some tears for her, and some tears for them. How he clung like a child, frightened of what waited in the dark.

_"I have never seen you weep before. There is but one thing I wish for you to remember."_

_"…"_

_"Angelus. My name is Angelus."_

_"…"_

_"You are the first and the last of your kind to know my name. Farewell, fool human."_

And just like that, their pathways parted. For Caim's sake, she hoped they would never need to see each other again.

**xxx**

The pain was great. It was the first time she had begged for death. Had Furiae felt this way as well? Had Furiae been forced to endure this tremendous burden? Angelus had never bothered to think of it from the perspective of the goddess. She had only seen and felt what Caim had felt. She had only known what Caim had known.

Would Caim protect her with the same ferocity that he protected Furiae? Would Caim love her with the same passion that he loved his sister? Caim had lost her to the world and its unfortunate events.

Angelus knew, however, that he would lose his partner as well. She had known one day or night—as they looked the same—that it was a simple thought that registered to her. She could not hear him. She could not sense him. And yet he was still alive, this much she knew. No matter how she called through the darkness, she could not obtain a response.

Had… he forsaken her?

**Never!**

The world only came to light when she had been freed from her prison. She knew not how it came to be. She knew not that it was the combined efforts of the Watcher's child and her precious partner that had brought her from her confinement. She knew only the rage within her eyes, the price for being the Goddess of the Seal. The last stronghold for the world, threatened by the loss of the other seals, she was confronted by those who would do unto her death's sweet embrace.

It wasn't until she saw Caim again that she realized how badly she'd wanted to. She had parted ways with him believing that it would be far more beneficial for them to never again rest eyes upon each other. What pride she'd held. And how easily he caused hers to melt away.

_"Caim! You heard my voice… You heard my voice, and tried to set me free… many times."_

_"…"_

_"How the people must have turned against you… I did not know… I could not know…"_

_"…"_

_"I had waited so long… …so long to see you again…"_

He had known of the pain she went through. He had journeyed so much to free her. He _did_ care for her as he had Furiae. She would never doubt him again.

With all things in the world, there was no eternity. Caim had aged eighteen years, and yet he looked as ambitious as he had the day beneath the dreary sky in the courtyard. She could hear his pleas finally. For both of them to be put to rest. For both of them to bury their sorrow.

So when she fell, she harboured no ill will toward the Watcher's second rebellion. And if she had, it was masked by her commitment to her partner, the only being who had proven himself as not a _man_, but as a dragon.

_"Caim… Is it over?"_

_"It's over. We're together now."_

_**Fin**  
_


End file.
